A Study in Connections
by ShilohHolmes
Summary: Connections intertwine everyone on the Earth together. Six year old Sherlock Holmes can see them. When John and Sarah Watson meet Sherlock and his older brother, Mycroft, they are thrown into something that they never could have imagined. Crossover with Touch.
1. Prolougue

_A.N. Hola:) Thank you so much for checking out my story! This idea came to me after watching an episode of Touch. I am a big fan of both Touch and Sherlock, and I wondered what it would be like to combine the ideas. This story is a fun little experiment that I hope people will enjoy. I apologize in advance if it becomes choppy or confusing. Also, the characters might become OOC, because I am changing some things about them. Thank you so much for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW:) –Shiloh_

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock or Touch.**_

**Preface**

Raindrops. Beautiful orbs of crystal clear water that fall from the sky. Each individual tear emitted by nature falls precisely where it was meant to land, joining together with other drops of liquid emotion.

In fact, raindrops are a lot like people. Each individual drop condenses uniquely, but finds a way to join together with others. For a varying amount of time, they both coast through life surrounded by a constant, comfortable environment. But when the time comes, it storms, and they scatter, unable to handle the sudden direct change.

Change. The ghastly dark shadow that looms over every human being. People detest it, as it is one of the few things in life that they cannot predict or prevent from happening. They don't realize that everything is connected, therefore predictable.

Connections. Threads of un-coincidental happenings that tie everything together. Each individualized by their varying degrees of length, thickness, importance, and urgency. These strands of logic can be seen all around us, tied to even the smallest grain of sand. Each follows its own path, bending, twisting, and looping around objects that are meant to collide. They flow like a gentle river, subtle with grace and power.

Problems arise when an obstacle disturbs this continuous pattern. A ripple effect is generated by this novelty variable, throwing off the entire consistency of every connection. If this problem is not repaired, vital threads can be shattered instantly, distorting the population's concept of reality.

People are not aware of these connections, therefore they do not possess the ability to fix the problems that arise. People continue to carry out their normal lives, unaware of the complications that threaten to destroy normality itself. They don't realize how helpless and vulnerable they are.

I can see the connections. The patterns. Every person, every animal, every object I look at is attached to a luminescent thread that connects it to the rest of the world.

I can feel it when a connection is broken. It begins as a slight discomfort, but gradually the pain increases. If it is not repaired in time, the pain manifests into an explosion of agony caused by the suffering and misfortune of others. That is why I need someone to listen to me.

People don't understand. They don't see the connections or understand the number patterns, therefore they do not acknowledge the possibility that such things exist. They feel the urge to share every thought that passes through their heads, as they desire social interaction.

When people look at me, they see an abnormal child oblivious to the world around him. The natural instinct that craves normality pushes them to "help" me. To change me. To make me normal, and remove me from the real world until I can obtain a firm grasp on reality.

Because I communicate with numbers, I am automatically flagged as different, and in need of help. They want me to express my thoughts and feelings, unable to accept the fact that I don't need to. They say that they want to help me, and that speaking is one of the most vital things in life. If so, then why have I been able to keep quiet for so long?

I've been alive for six years, eighty-six days, four hours and thirty-three seconds and I've never said a word.

Speaking won't change the fact that I am standing in the pouring rain, drops of water cascading down my face. My body is bathed in the blinding light emitted by the headlights of a vehicle, and the screams of my brother and "father" echo throughout the night.

Speaking won't repair the broken thread that is causing me and so many others a massive amount of pain.

Speaking won't ease the explosion of agony that greets my body as the hard, solid hood of a car slams into my chest.

Speaking won't erase the feelings of fear, pain, sadness, helplessness, and anger that are etched into the faces of the two people standing above me as dark tendrils of unconsciousness coax me towards the comfort that they can provide.

Speaking won't keep me alive.

_A.N. I hope you enjoyed my short little preface:) I tried my best to make it sound interesting without revealing much of the plot:) I apologize if any of it was too choppy (it was sort of meant to be a little confusing lol), and if it was hard to follow:) The next chapter will reveal the identity's of some of the characters I will be using. Thanks so much for reading, PLEASE REVIEW:) –Shiloh_


	2. 147

_Big thanks to Money Can't Buy Life and MadTARDIStraveller for their reviews! I really appreciate it you guys:) Alright, so here I am with the first chapter:) I hope you enjoy it:)_

_**Chapter One**_

_**147**_

John Watson

Tendrils of golden sunshine peaked out from behind the tawny curtains suspended above my bedroom window. I yawned as I raised my head from its spot on my pillow, craning my neck to see what time it was. The alarm clock displayed the neon green block numbers: _7:43._

"Sarah," I whispered, turning to my right. My beautiful wife was lying on her side, her long brown hair draped over her face. "It's time to get up."

I ran my fingers through my hair as I sat up , yawning. Swinging my feet over the ledge of the bed, I hopped off of the mattress, landing on my two feet with a subtle _thud_. I crossed the floor to the other side of the room, so that I came to stand next to Sarah.

"Come on sweetie, we've got to get ready. You volunteered for us to help out at Jefferson's." At these words, Sarah snapped her head up. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and she gripped my shoulders happily.

"That's today! Oh honey I'm so glad that you've decided to come with me! It's going to be so amazing, and it will make you feel extremely good," Sarah paused her ecstatic rambling as she ran out of our bedroom and to the kitchen. Despite the walls in between us, she continued her speech. "Lilly told me that the children are wonderful, and very open to visitors. She said that they enjoy it when new people visit them, and that it makes them happy. Isn't that wonderful, John? We're going to make a child happy!"

Rolling my eyes, I slowly followed her to the kitchen. If my wife wasn't so passionate about children, I would have bet money that she had copied her words from a cheesy commercial televised by a charity organization.

I made my way behind my wife, wrapping my arms around her stomach. She giggled and turned her head to place a small kiss on my cheek. I tilted my head down and our lips met.

"There will be none of this in front of the children!" Sarah scolded playfully, ruffling my hair. My lips twitched upward into a smile.

"Of course not." I laughed as I opened the pantry. A very diverse stock of cereals taunted me as I struggled to select one to eat. Finally my mind settled on fruit loops. I grabbed the box and brought it to the dining room table, snagging the milk out of the kitchen on my way.

"Would you care to join me?" I queried, pouring milk into an awaiting bowl of cereal. Sarah nodded as she took a seat next to me. She fixed up breakfast for herself, gazing at the empty chairs surrounding the table longingly.

I had seen that look in her eyes an umpteen amount of times. It was the craving for laughter, noise, chatter, and giggling. The crave for children, and a large family. My wife desperately wanted to have kids, and the fact that she couldn't have them was incredibly painful.

When we had first started dating, Sarah had been wary about marriage. She was concerned that I wouldn't want to be with a woman who couldn't provide me with children. Although I had always liked the idea of having a family, I couldn't stand the possibility of not living my life with Sarah. She had been genuinely touched by my dedication, and we had been incredibly close ever since.

"So tell me about Jefferson's." I prompted, attempting to distract Sarah from her sadness. My plan worked immediately, as Sarah's lips broke into a large smile.

"Alright, well I already told you that my friend, Lilly Gurrex, works there, right?" Sarah inquired, and I nodded. "Well we were eating lunch at a café, and we started talking about work. I told her all about life at the hospital, and she told me about Jefferson's. It's a pretty big orphanage you know. It houses around two hundred kids, from newborns to seventeen year olds. Most of the kids there attend the local public schools, but they have personalized programs for some of the children who have special needs. It really is a great organization, John. I was hoping that if we had a good time today, we could visit every weekend."

Sarah stared at me with hopeful blue eyes, and I sighed. She knew how to play me like a fiddle.

"Sure sweetie." I responded, heaving myself up from the chair I had been sitting on. I carried my plate over to the sink, rinsing it off with lukewarm water. Sarah came up behind me to whisper in my ear.

"Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while." I felt my cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, and the warm feeling up pleasure rise up from the pit of my stomach. Oh yes, this was defiantly worth it.

"Alright, let's get a move on." I said sternly, trying to mask my excitement. Sarah just shook her head, twirling a piece of her brown hair around her finger. Her lips were stretched into a smile, and she took off for the stairs. I followed (more slowly), laughing as I witnessed my wife hopping down the stairs. She was so adorable.

"Are you coming slow poke?" She shouted as she rushed through the front door, the scarf she had snagged from the mantle of the fire place trailing behind her. I sighed and picked up the pace, grabbing my cane from its home next to the door.

"I'm coming, sweetie." I yelled obnoxiously, emphasizing the last word. When I arrived at the car, Sarah was already strapped into the passenger's seat, sticking her tongue out at me. I rolled my eyes dramatically, taking my place beside her in the driver's seat. Sarah turned on the radio, humming the tune that played over the speakers.

"So what exactly will I be doing?" I queried, already beginning to feel uncomfortable. I wasn't the best with children. Well, I wasn't bad with them; I just hadn't spent a lot of time around them. I didn't want to scare or offend any of them, and I wasn't sure that I was aware of the proper way to deal with the little kids.

"Basically, you'll just be playing around with the kids. Lilly said that we will be visiting the younger children from age's five to seven. I'm sure they'll have dolls and blocks and books. I was thinking about reading them a story. I think they'd like that," She dropped off into her train of thought, and my grip on the steering wheel tightened. Such helpful advice.

"Great, thanks. Yup, that really helped. I'm feeling so confident." Sarah ignored me and continued to stare out the window. I gulped and returned my attention to the road.

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We arrived at Jefferson's after a thirty minute drive. Sarah was practically shaking with anticipation when we pulled into the parking lot. She jumped out of the car excitedly, making a bee line for the entrance to the building.

I remained sitting in the car, clenching and un-clenching my fists with worry. It felt like a group of butterflies had manifested in my stomach. _You can face explosions in Afghanistan, yet you are afraid to deal with a group of five year olds. _A voice in my head mocked me, and I scowled, slamming the door shut behind me as I exited the car. It was go time.

A sweet, sterile smell greeted me as I pushed through the doors that led into the welcome room at Jefferson's. Colorful posters littered the wall, filled to the brim with information on adoption and child care. My eyes skimmed over them quickly, until they came to rest on my wife. She was chatting with a blonde woman standing in the corner of the room. I could assume that it was Lilly.

"Oh, John! There you are! Come here," Sarah exclaimed when she spotted me at the door. She waved me over, chattering to Lilly in excitement. "Lilly, this is my husband John. John this is Lilly Davidson."

Lilly offered me a kind smile as we shook hands. I returned it nervously, rubbing the back of my head with my free hand.

"Nice to meet you, Doctor Watson. Sarah has told me a lot about you," Lilly and Sarah shared a knowing smile and I blushed. "You two will be visiting our five, six, and seven year olds. Feel free to use any of the toys and books provided, and don't be afraid to approach them. Most of the children in that age category are very open, and enjoy social interaction. I will warn you in advance that some of them can get a bit clingy. A lot of them have never had a solid parental figure in their history, so they become incredibly fond of adults who are kind to them. I will also warn you that some kids might look at you with hesitation or resentment. Their case is the exact opposite, really. Usually those are the kids who have experienced abuse, or who have been abandoned by their guardian. Most of them will open up after a while, but if they continue to act distant or hostile, just leave them to themselves. Now remember, just be yourselves and have fun. A few staff members will present in the room, and you can consult with them if you experience any problems, or if you have any questions. Have a great day, and thank you for coming by. I'll see you later Sarah." Lilly smiled at us and made her leave, walking up the stairs to a place unknown to me. Sarah grinned and intertwined her fingers with mine, pulling me down a cheerfully painted hallway.

"Come on! The room is just down the hall. Lilly told me that it was the second door on the right." As soon as the words escaped my wife's lips, we arrived at a formal sky blue door. Sarah's eyes twinkled with excitement as her hand fumbled for the door knob. I sucked in a breath as she opened the door.

The room was bright and colorful, radiating a child-like feeling of contempt. Cream colored carpeting coated the floor, topped with psychedelic alphabet rugs. The walls were painted a soothing blue, similar to the color of the door. Posters, number lines, the alphabet, and paintings covered the walls, and I couldn't help but smile. Toys were scattered all about the room, and bookshelves were filled to the brim with thin picture books.

Around forty children could be seen inside the room, and they were all adorable. A circle of about ten youngsters were tossing around a small ball, and a group of tiny girls were having a tea party. A blonde haired, blue eyed little girl was finger painting at a diminutive easel, and a small curly haired boy was hunched over a notebook in the corner.

I was startled out of my observations when a neatly dressed, middle-aged woman approached my wife and I.

"Hello! You must be the Watson's. I'm Karen Hightly, and I'll be around while you get to the kids. If you have any questions or concerns just talk to me. Do you have any questions?" Karen paused in her speech, allowing us the opportunity to speak. I turned my head to meet eyes with my wife, and we both shook our heads in a silent agreement. "No questions? Great! Have fun!" Karen turned away from us when a young girl approached her, and Sarah and I were left to our own devices.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I am going to go join a tea party." Sarah placed a kiss on my cheek before "prancing" off to join the group of girls. I sighed, making my way over to the kids tossing around the ball. One of them smiled at me, holding out his hand to pause the game.

"Hello Mr. My name is Robert, what's yours? Do you want to play ball with us?" The young "gentleman" extending his hand out to shake, and I accepted it eagerly, glad that the awkwardness I had been experiencing earlier had disappeared.

"I'm John, and I would love to join in on your game." I entered the circle to stand next to my new friend, and another little boy jumped up excitedly.

"My name is John too!" He squealed in delight, lifting his head up with pride. Some of the other kids looked at him with jealously, disappointed that they did not share the same name as me. I chuckled in amusement, flashing the red head a smile.

"Well John, I'm quite fond of your name. I don't know if I've ever heard of it before." My weak joke earned a successful wave of laughter from the kids surrounding me, and I silently congratulated myself. Maybe I wasn't as bad as I had first thought.

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Our game went on for about thirty minutes, as more and more children joined our circle. Even the group of "princesses" Sarah had accompanied earlier decided to conclude their gathering and get in on some of the fun. The only child who hadn't joined out game was the little boy I had seen earlier in the corner.

He had not moved from his spot on the floor, and his eyes remained glued to his journal. He was clutching a yellow pencil in the palm of his hand, and I could only infer that he was scribbling some type of drawing onto the paper. His back was hunched in concentration, and his dark, curly mop of hair was draped over his face. Not once did he pause in his writing to sneak a glance in our direction.

One of the two children standing next to me followed my gaze to the young boy, and she shrugged.

"That's Sherlock Holmes. He doesn't play with anyone, but that's because he's different. He doesn't talk either. It's pretty weird." Her tone wasn't judgmental or harsh, but confused. My interest in the kid was sparked, and I allowed my eyes to linger on him, before I forced my attention back to the game.

We tossed the ball around for about five more minutes, until Sarah finally decided to switch activities. She announced that she would be reading everyone a story and that anyone who wanted to hear it should go over and sit on the rug. All the children who had been playing with the ball rushed over to the specified area, arguing over who got to sit in the front row.

Sarah walked over to the bookshelf with Robert, allowing him to choose the book she would be reading. I took this as an opportunity to approach the little boy in the corner. Usually, I would remain in my comfort zone with the other children, but something about the little one was so intriguing, and I was desperate to meet him.

I began to approach him quickly, but my footsteps slowed down as I got closer to the child. He had still not looked up from his journal, and I was beginning to have second thoughts. But a strong feeling tugged at the back of my head, pushing me to go and talk to the kid. I inhaled deeply, and continued my trek across the room with the help of my trusty cane.

I arrived next to Sherlock and squatted down on my knees, curiously looking the young boy over. He had extremely fair skin, and raven black hair. His hair was twisted into curly ringlets that were ruffled in an adorable fashion. The sharp grey pools of color in his eyes were intense with concentration as he focused on the piece of paper lying upon his knees in front of him. My eyes dropped down to look at the paper, and I was shocked at what I saw.

Hundreds of tiny numbers lined the paper. Each one written in the same size and color as the one preceding it. Focusing on the small figures, I realized that it was the same number written over and over again. 147.

I stared at the child, shocked. His un-wavering face slowly turned towards me, and I continued to gape at him in awe. The child's eyes were captivating and mysterious, drawing me in. This was the first time that he had moved in an hour, and it was to lock eyes with me.

I didn't realize that someone had been calling me until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around hesitantly to find Mrs. Hights standing over me.

"Ummm, Dr. Watson would you mind joining the other kids for story time. I'm glad that you noticed Mr. Holmes' over here by himself, but I'm afraid he doesn't like company." I felt my cheeks grow warm for the umpteenth time that day, but I nodded apologetically, attempting to push myself up from the ground. The feeling of a small hand on my shoulder stopped me.

I turned around to see Sherlock Holmes staring straight into my eyes, his tiny palm resting on my shoulder. I heard Karen gasp behind me, and I turned to her, confused.

"What's wrong?" I queried, the awkward feeling from before reappearing in my stomach.

"He doesn't touch anyone. No one ever touches him. " My eyes widened in confusion at hearing her words. Karen had pulled out her mobile phone, and she had begun to type out a message when I stopped her.

"What do you mean, 'He doesn't touch people.' He's touching me right now." I searched her face for an answer, unsure of what to do next. Sherlock suddenly removed his hand from my back, and I turned around, still perplexed. The young boy went back to writing the number 147 in his journal, and I blinked my eyes in confusion. What had just happened?

I looked to Karan for guidance, only to find that her phone was pressed to her ear as she babbled in excitement. "Yes mam, Sherlock actually _touched _Doctor Watson! Uhuh, yes mam, are you sure? Ok." Karen beamed at me and bent down to reach Sherlock's eye level. The little boy didn't look up from his numbers, but Karen spoke any way.

"Hey Sherlock, do you like Dr. Watson? Would you like him to read a story to you? I'm sure he would love to." Karen's voice was soft and gentle, and she looked at me for reassurance. I nodded vigorously, putting on my best smile. When Sherlock continued to scribble down the consistent digits, Karen's shoulders sagged.

"Maybe you could show Doctor Watson some of your numbers. I'm sure he'd love to see them. Wouldn't you like to share them with someone?" Sherlock continued to ignore the patient woman, and I could tell that her excitement was dwindling. My heart, however, had not slowed down in my chest.

"Please sweet heart, it would make everyone very happy if you would answer me. Especially Mycroft." Sherlock's head lifted at these words, and he gazed over Karen's shoulder. We both turned around to see a middle-aged gentleman and a teenage boy approaching us.

The younger boy was gazing at Sherlock worriedly, something akin to hope in his eyes. He walked with immaculate posture, an air of superiority and intelligence radiating from his tall figure. He had short brown hair, and leafy green eyes that seemed to analyze every detail that passed through his line of vision. When his intimidating gaze zeroed in on me, I had to resist the urge to squirm and look away.

The man accompanying him was adorned in a casual green shirt, and khaki shorts. His blonde hair was styled fashionably, and his blue eyes were kind and soft. He looked at Sherlock with excitement and anticipation, and a smile was plastered on his tan face.

The two joined us quickly, the teenager automatically taking his place by Sherlock's side. Now that they were side by side, I could tell that the two were related. The older boy glanced at his brother protectively, glancing at us all warily. I offered him a smile and he returned mine with a fake one of his own.

"Hey Sherlock, buddy! How are you today? Mrs. Karen told us that you touched Doctor Watson, and Mycroft and I were very happy when we heard the news. Would you like Doctor Watson to hang out with you?" The man addressed Sherlock enthusiastically, and he didn't become discouraged when the little boy didn't answer him. He turned to face me, offering me his hand as he introduced himself.

"Hello, my name is Richard Tucker. I'm Sherlock's social worker. If you haven't noticed it already, Sherlock is a special child. He's autistic, and he doesn't speak with or touch anyone. He's obsessed with numbers, and he doesn't interact with the other children at all. The only other person he has ever touched was his brother Mycroft, and that was years ago. Even though it doesn't seem like it would be a big deal, the fact that Sherlock just made physical contact with you is extremely important. Would you mind spending time with him if he wants to do something with you?" I nodded eagerly, glancing down at the boy in question who was sitting on the floor.

"No, sir. I wouldn't mind at all. If I can be of any type of help, please, let me know." Richard grinned at my words, turning back to Sherlock.

"Alright Sherlock, Doctor Watson has agreed to stick around for a little while, would you like to-"Richard was stopped mid-sentence when Sherlock sprang up from his spot on the floor, his eyes focused on me. His head was tilted slightly forward, and his small hands were shoved in the pockets of his purple hoodie. His steps were quick and purposeful, and he appeared by my side within seconds.

Before I could figure out what was going on, Sherlock's hand dived into my pocket, his tiny palm emerging with my phone. I opened my mouth to question him, but the agile boy had already dashed across the room and through another door before I could open my mouth.

Everyone remained still, confused. The only person who seemed to understand what was going on was Mycroft, who quickly pursued his younger brother. He shouted a muffled "Sorry", as he raced across the room and through the door. I continued to stand where I was, wide-eyed.

"Does anyone know what just happened?" I inquired, staring at the exit the boys had just rushed through. Karen shook her head in a negative response, while Richard quickly regained his composure.

"I am sooooooo, sorry about that Doctor Watson. I'll get your phone back to you as soon as possible!" Richard bowed his head in an apology before racing of the retrieve my phone. I furrowed my eyebrows, turning to Karen to ask some questions.

"Does he do that often?"

"Hmmm? Oh, no. I mean, he enjoys playing around with electronics, but he's never stolen anyone's phone before. As far as I know," She added the last bit with a slight shrug of her shoulders, turning towards me apologetically. "I'm so sorry. He doesn't mean any harm, I'm sure. Richard will get your phone back un-harmed. Actually, if my suspicions are correct, Mycroft has already confiscated it from Sherlock." I nodded in response.

I didn't really care about my phone. My sister Harry had given it to me in a feeble attempt to reconnect around three months ago. Despite the whole "You're a man, and you should provide for yourself" stereotype, I accepted the device gladly. Why should I pay extra money on a phone, when one was provided to me for free.

I was startled out my train of thought when Sherlock, Mycroft, and Richard re-entered the room. My cell phone was lying in the palm of Mycroft's hand, completely un-harmed. Karen breathed a sigh of relief from behind me, but I was too focused on Sherlock to pay attention to my rescued phone.

The little boy was shuffling across the room, his eyes sweeping the floor. He didn't pay attention when Richard asked him to apologize to me, and instead he continued his journey back to the corner of the room. Richard flashed me yet another apologetic look, but I just waved it away.

"Here is your phone Doctor Watson. I apologize for my younger sibling's rash behavior. He can be quite," Mycroft's eyes drifted upward towards the ceiling as he searched for the right word. "Impulsive. I apologize if he has inconvenienced you in any way." Mycroft enunciated each word, his voice sounding way too sophisticated for a thirteen or fourteen year old boy.

"Oh no, it was no problem at all. Thank you for getting it back for me. Your brother seems like a nice kid, and so do you." I accepted the phone from him politely, and he gave me what resembled a genuine smile.

"That's not what most people call us."

"What do most people call you?"

"Freaks." Mycroft said the word as though it was no big deal, his observant eyes scanning my body to see how I would react. I tugged at the bottom of my coat nervously, my heart clenching with sympathy.

"It's alright, though. They are all idiots who have a not so promising future awaiting them." He said the words matter-o-factly, making me feel sorry for the children who had crossed him. According to Mycroft, they might as well have been as dumb as a box of rocks. And for some reason, I believed him.

Before I could think of the words to respond with, Richard interrupted me.

"I think it's time for Sherlock to go back to his room. Mycroft, would you mind walking him up the stairs. Thanks. Karen, would you mind coming with me?" Richard turned to me after addressing everyone else, his face bright with embarrassment. "I am terribly sorry about Sherlock, I assure you he meant no harm. Thank you so much for visiting today Doctor Watson. We'll be in touch." Richard shook my hand once more before turning away to walk out the door.

I was left alone in the corner of the room, staring at the mobile phone in my hand. I clicked the power button located above the upper right hand portion of the screen, to discover that Sherlock had set a passcode on my phone. I opened my mouth to call over Richard, when an idea popped into my mind.

Cautiously, I typed in the three digit number 147. I smiled in awe as the screen unlocked, revealing my usual home page. What an intelligent kid.

I placed the phone back into my pocket, making my way over to Sarah. She had just finished the book she had been reading to the kids, and she was returning it to a light wooden bookshelf. Apparently, she had been oblivious to everything that had just occurred. I walked up behind her, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. She smiled at me, placing her hands on her hips.

"Where were you when I was reading the kids the story? I could have used your deep, manly, voice when the male characters were speaking." I laughed at her attempt at a guy's voice, mentally deciding to tell her about Sherlock later. I didn't want to waste any of the time she could spend with the precious children.

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We remained at Jefferson's for about four more hours. I played with Robert and his group of friends for a while, and I was the judge of their races when we went outside to play. Sarah decided to push some children on the swings, laughing every time I used my "announcer" voice to name the winner.

When we returned to the building, Karen put in a movie for the kids to watch. I found it surprisingly entertaining, and Sarah had to drag me away from the television to help prepare lunch for the children. I didn't spot Sherlock once after our little situation.

After everyone was finished eating, Sarah and I said our goodbye's to our new friends. It wasn't exactly an easy.

A little girl started crying, and Sarah began to shed tears as well. I had to assure both of the crying girls that we would return next weekend to get them to stop. Sarah looked up at me with bleary, hopeful eyes at my words, wrapping her arms around my neck to pull me into a hug, murmuring a soft thank you.

"Don't mention it." I smiled, kissing the top of her head. We waved goodbye to all of the children, and I couldn't help but feel disappointed when I didn't see Sherlock among the young faces. For some reason I felt strangely connected to the mute child.

Sarah seemed to notice my slight frown, as she tapped my shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing with curiosity. "What's the matter, John? I thought you had a good time."

"Oh no, it's not anything like that. I had a wonderful time. But I met this interesting little boy named Sherlock. He didn't speak or touch anyone, but he grabbed my shoulder and stole my phone," My frowned deepened as I realized how vague my narrative must have sounded, but I was deep in thought and not entirely focused on what my wife was saying. "They took him away after he nabbed my phone, and I didn't get to see him again."

Sarah rubbed circles into my back as we returned to the car. I opened the passenger seat door for her, and made my way around the car to join her in the vehicle.

"I'm sure that you'll see him next week, John." She chirped, browsing the street for a good restaurant to eat at. It was then that I realized how hungry I was. My stomach growled and I joined Sarah in the search for a restaurant.

"How about that place?" Sarah suggested, pointing at a quaint little café, _Speedy's Cafe_. It was situated nicely on Baker Street, and it offered shelter from the drizzly weather. I nodded my approval, parking the car in the designated area near the restaurant.

We exited the car quickly, as raindrops had begun their decent from the sky. I wrapped my shoulder around Sarah protectively, shielding her as best as I could from the bad weather. It only took us around thirty seconds to arrive at the entrance to the eatery.

The inside was very nice, but I didn't get much time to survey the scenery, as a young woman burst through the door frantically. Her eyes were wild, and if I could use one word to describe her, it would be frazzled.

She rushed over to stand in front of one of the televisions suspended on the wall, her head swiveling around as she searched for something. One of the waiters approached her warily, offering his assistance.

"Do you know what channel the Burrowman's Foundation will be airing a special on?" Desperation was evident in her voice, and Sarah and I looked from one another to the woman, intrigued.

"No mam, can't say I have." He shrugged his shoulders, gesturing for her to take a seat at one of the many tables provided by the restaurant. Instead of sitting down, the woman continued to look around the room hopefully.

"Does anyone know what channel Burrowman's Foundation is airing their special on? Donna Benson is one of the representatives." Everyone dining in the café shook their heads in the negative, and the woman's shoulders slumped. Defeat and sadness washed over her tan face, and I felt bad for not being able to offer any assistance.

I was about to ask Sarah about her opinion on the ordeal, when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out curiously. No one ever called me.

The number 147 was displayed on the screen, and I stared at it in confusion. Three digits? That wasn't enough to be an actual number. Despite the uneasy feeling in my stomach, my thumb pressed down on the green answer button.

"Hello?" I attempted to maintain a casual tone, although suspicion was laced along each letter of the word.

My response was complete and absolute silence. Not even the soft sound of someone breathing could be heard through the loud speakers. I felt my eyebrows furrow with confusion. I repeated my greeting, louder. Yet again, I received no response.

"Alright, I'm hanging up." I said, frustrated. I jabbed the red end call button forcefully, setting my phone down on the table. Sarah gave me a curious look, but I waved it away with my hand.

"It was just a prank call or something. The number was weird too, it-" I stopped myself mid-sentence, realization slapping me in the face.

That was the number Sherlock had been writing in his notebook. The mysterious 147.

_Maybe he programmed your phone to do that,_ a thought in my head suggested. I brushed it off almost immediately. A six year old did not know how to program cell phones. It was absolutely ridiculous.

"Please, does anyone have any idea what channel it would be on?" The frantic woman interrupted my thoughts with one last desperate cry. I was just about to voice my disappointing answer, when my phone began to vibrate again.

**Incoming Call**

**Number: 147**

"147!" I breathed aloud, picking up my phone from its spot on a napkin. I answered it doubtfully, rolling my eyes when the same silence greeted me.

"147? Thank you, sir!" The woman appeared in front of me, a black TV remote clutched in her palm. Her fingers found their way to the appropriate numbers. My eyes widened when I realized that she had misinterpreted my meaning. The screen flickered and changed channels before I could protest.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean-" I was interrupted by the woman's cry of surprise. Tears were streaking down her face as she starred at the television screen. I stood up to apologize, when Sarah stopped me, pointing at the program that was now on.

An immaculately dressed woman who looked around fifty was smiling at her audience. She had neat blonde hair, and her face was covered in an over-whelming amount of make-up. She was talking about some sort of program offered from where ever she was employed. It was only when my eyes reached the bottom of the screen, that I understood Sarah's indication.

The words _Burrowman's Foundation _were written in white block letters, and the name of the presenter, _Donna Benson_, appeared next to them.

I had given the woman the right channel.

"How did you know that John?" Sarah whispered. I shook my head vigorously, shocked at this lucky development. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at us, and I had the sudden urge to run out the door.

"Mam, are you alright?" Sarah was the first person to break the silence, and I smiled at her courage. That was my girl.

"That's my mom!" The woman cried, pointing at the screen in excitement. A telephone number appeared in front of Donna's face, and she dialed it on her mobile phone with trembling fingers. The look on her face told everyone that she had been put through.

"Hello? Mom? It's me, Bethany. Yes! I got away from him, and I've received a restraining order. I missed you mummy, and I want to come home." The girl continued to ramble on, but I tuned her out. My head was spinning, and the noise coming from my fellow diners wasn't helping.

"Sarah, can we leave? Please?" Sarah nodded immediately, and we made a bee line for the door. I heard Bethany shout a tearful thank you behind us, but I didn't reply.

147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

Sarah and I sat side by side in the car, staring out the windshield in amazement. I had explained Sherlock's notebook to her, and the mysterious calls I had received. Unfourtanetly, she wasn't able to shed any light upon the subject. Instead, we had decided to sit in silence, attempting to sort out our thoughts.

It must've been a coincidence, right? I mean, there was no reason to get freaked out. We had just been in the right place, at the right time. Luck had been on my side today.

"John, is that your sister?" I followed Sarah's gaze out the left window, my eyes coming to rest on a brown haired girl being handcuffed by a police man. I growled when I realized that it was Harry.

"Yes." My voice was a low rumble, and I watched intently as Harry was shoved into the car. The officer tried his hardest to be gentle, but he was big man, and Harry was a tiny woman. I sighed as the pair set off for the prison.

"I bet you she's in for a DUI. Good for her, I'm glad that she finally got caught." My voice was bitter, and Sarah scowled at me.

"John, she's your sister. We need to help her out, come on, just, wait! Look at the number on the back of the car!" Sarah's voice was filled with awe, and I quickly craned my neck to spot the numbers 147 painted on the back of the vehicle.

My foot found the gas petal, and I focused on following the car. There was no way that this was possible. Whatever problems I had had with bailing my sister out of jail before, had completely disappeared now. Something was going on, and I wanted to find out what.

"Are we going to follow them?" Sarah queried, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I nodded and she squealed with glee. "How cool is this?"

"Very cool. If numbers turn you on, then I could always-"

"John, shut up and focus on the road." Sarah giggled and I ducked my head down in mock embarrassment. Hey, you can't blame a player for trying, right?

147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

We arrived at the jail after about a twenty minute drive. I was too focused on the significance of the number 147 to pay attention to my surroundings, so everything went by quickly.

Sarah and I waited in an area with comfortable chairs while Harry was finger printed and dealt with by policemen. A woman at the front desk was busy sorting paperwork, and the whole room seemed to be unusually quiet. Of course, I didn't mind, I was too busy trying to wrap my mind around what the number could mean.

The number on the police car couldn't possibly be a coincidence. The numbers in Sherlock's notebook, my phone calls, the television channel, and now the police car. Was Sherlock trying to communicate somehow? Did he actually know that all of this was going to happen?

No! That wasn't possible! Little children didn't see the future and explain it through numbers. It just didn't happen. "Superpowers" like that didn't exist in the real world. It was like the entire situation had been lifted from a Marvel comic.

"Mr. Watson?" A feminine voice called my voice, and I realized that the woman at the front voice was speaking to me. I patted Sarah on the knee, making my way across the room and to the woman. "You're here to post bail for Harriet Watson, correct?"

I nodded, sighing in disgust. _Why did my sister get herself into situations like these? _Then the bothersome process of posting bail began.

147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

After what seemed like years, Sarah and I were finally back in the car, alone. We had driven Harry home after retrieving her from jail, and we had both had some time to think about what had happened.

"Somehow, it's all connected. It's just got to be! This is amazing John!" Sarah had apparently arrived at the same conclusion that I had: She didn't know what was going on, or how it was possible, just that it was an amazing discovery. And she wanted to be a part of it.

"I say we go home, get some rest, and then call Lilly in the morning. Maybe she'll let us visit Sherlock in the morning." Sarah suggested. I voiced my agreement enthusiastically, pulling into our driveway.

"Do you have any idea what we have gotten ourselves into?" I asked her as I unlocked our front door. Sarah shook her head and we both burst out laughing, the uncertainty of the situation manifesting into humor. We had little to go on, and the entire situation could be pure coincidence, but we were both sure that something fantastic was going on.

I opened the door to our humble residence happily, following my wife into the house. I immediately took a seat in my favorite armchair, flipping on the television. Sarah made her way to the kitchen, setting down her purse on the counter.

An American reality show was currently on the station I had flipped on to, and I watched with peaked interest as a beautiful young woman began to yell at a bulky young man. Sarah didn't like it when I watched crap telly, but personally, I found it quite entertaining.

"What do you want for dinner John? We don't have anything in the pantry?" Sarah emerged from the kitchen with a pouty face, her brown hair draping over her eyes. She had taken her pony tail out of her hair, and her duo was defiantly a messy one.

"I don't know. I could pick us up some Chinese food from the restaurant by Barts." I immediately regretted my suggestion. I really didn't want to have to get up and walk all the way there.

Sarah had a strict rule about walking and driving. If your destination was within a few blocks of the house, you had better slap on your walking shoes, because you weren't driving. I sighed as Sarah nodded approvingly.

"Alright, great suggestion honey! You know what I like! Put on your coat, I don't need you to catch a cold. You turn into a baby when you get sick." I scowled at Sarah as she laughed at my expense as I made my way to the door. If she was going to make fun of me, she could pick up her own food. Sarah seemed to think of this, as she quickly shut her mouth.

"Anyway, stay safe! Love ya!" She retreated to the kitchen quickly, leaving me all alone by the front door. I sighed as I shrugged on my coat, making my way out the door and onto the sidewalk.

It had stopped raining about an hour ago, and the sky was a dark, midnight blue. A portly amount of people occupied the walkways and streets, all of them adorned in stylish coats and winter wear. I looked down at my own coat self-consciously, it was pretty dull. The air was filled with a comforting chatter, and a shout for a cab or the sound of a horn would interrupt the monotone collection of voices every once in a while.

I shoved my hands in my hands in my pockets; glancing at all of the buildings I passed by. London was so mystifying at night. Sometimes it was fun to just stop and take a look around. City life was so enthralling, offering you a vast amount of sights to see if you just took the time to look for it.

Couples kissing, children bickering, drivers singing along to the radios in their cars, men standing on the roof of St. Barts.

Wait.

Why was there a man standing on the top of St. Barts? I spun on the balls of my feet, my eyes shooting up to the roof of the historical hospital. The man was pacing back and forth on the roof crazily, his hands flailing around as if he were explaining something to someone. I immediately began the detour from my spot on the pavement to the hospital.

No one seemed to notice me as I entered the building, discreetly making my way down a few hallways and to the stair well. A surprising amount of people were scattered around the building considering that it was night time. I tried to project the: "I'm supposed to be here so don't mess with me" kind of look. So far, it had worked.

As I scaled the stairs, I found myself breathing harder and harder. A voice in my head was prompting me to get help, to call the police, but a louder voice told me that I was the one that needed to help.

After a few breathtaking (literally, you see what I did there? With the anxiety and the climb) minutes, I finally arrived at the door that led out onto the roof. The fact the someone's life was hanging in the balance made me hesitant.

_But wait! Wasn't I the fearless army doctor from Afghanistan? I had seen things in that country that had surely prepared me for this. _These thoughts coaxed me into action, and I bravely pushed open the door.

The man stopped dead in his tracks to stare at me. His dark eyes went wide with fear, and he rushed over to the ledge, putting his arms out to balance himself.

"Don't come closer!" He yelled, a tear sliding down his cheek. I nodded silently, raising my hands in the air as though I was surrounding. This guy was definitely stressed. He had been pushed past his limit, and he definitely had the will to jump. I was treading in dangerous water.

"Alright, I'll stay right where I am. In fact, I'll back up if you come forward. It must be awfully scary standing so close to that ledge." I took a few steps backwards, gesturing for him to do the opposite. He gulped, but did as I had instructed him to do.

"I'm just going to cut to the quick. Why are you up here? What happened? I'd be happy to listen. It's pretty cold out here, how about we go somewhere out to eat? You can explain it to me over a nice, warm pot of tea." I used my most soothing the voice, the one I had used when I had been speaking with Sherlock.

"No, I-I can't." Despite his words, his face seemed to waver, as though he was seriously considering my offer. I was making progress. Well, about as much progress as you can make in five minutes on the roof of a hospital in the middle of winter.

"Fine then, we can do it out here. Why are you up here?"

"M-My wife, she-she took away my children. She was g-granted full c-custody, and I can't see them anymore." The man's shoulders shook up and down as he cried, and I had to look away to maintain control of the situation.

Ok, so he had kids. I needed to get him to talk about his kids. How many were there? What were their names? What did they look like? I thought up these questions, preparing myself to voice them out loud.

"P-Plus, I lost my j-job. The boss l-let me go y-yesterday, and there is no way I'm going be able to pay the rent. To top that off, my last living relative died last Thursday." The man was hysterical, and I couldn't blame him. He had defiantly had a crappy December.

"Look, why don't you tell me about your children." I thought that the man's face would light up at my words, but instead more tears began to well up in his chocolate brown eyes. He turned towards the ledge, shuffling forwards.

"It hurts too much to talk about them." His words were muffled and I began to panic. I had said the wrong thing, and it could be fatal.

I jumped about ten feet in the air when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I jerked it out of my pocket, my breathing racing as I saw who was calling. 147. I hurriedly pressed the green answer button, praying that whoever was calling me would help me save the man's life.

Surprisingly, instead of silence, the laughter and chitter chatter of children filled my ear. My mind raced to come up with reason as to how this would help me. Then a monotone voice interrupted my scrambled thoughts.

"Three." The word resounded in my mind, and I heard the phone switch to dial tone as the caller ended our "conversation." I desperately struggled to make sense of his/ her message. Three? What did the number three and 147 have to do with anything?

My fingers pulled at my hair, and I sucked in a gasp as the man put his feet on the ledge, his eyes closing in desperation. Maybe I should have called the police. Then, everything seemed to make sense.

"So let me talk about them for you. There are three of them, aren't there? The eldest is seven, the middle child is four, and your youngest is one." It was a shot in the dark, but the only one I could think of based on the message from the person who kept calling me.

The man turned around, his mouth open in awe. His chocolate eyes seemed to have re-gained some of the light they had had in the beginning of our conversation.

"How did you know that?"

"Someone just called me and told me," I admitted. I shrugged my shoulders as his face began to show the signs of suspicion and confusion. "It is this random number that keeps supplying me with the solution to different situations. Sort of. I know it sounds crazy, but you've got to believe me." I was the one who now sounded desperate, and I didn't like how the emotion's tone tinted my words.

"Alright, I believe you. I mean, why not? If you were some crazy stalker, why would you be trying to talk me down from the roof?" He chuckled nervously and I joined him.

"No, I'm not quite a stalker. Actually I returned home from Afghanistan a few years ago. I was a military doctor" I lifted my head with pride, and my companion's eyes widened. A smile sprouted on his face and he laughed.

"Really? What a coincidence! I served in Afghanistan as well, where were-" Our conversation was interrupted by a harsh BOOM of thunder, and a flash of lightning not far from our perch on the hospital rooftop. Drops of cold rain began to pelt us from above, and I pulled the collar of my coat up and over my head.

"Do you want to continue this conversation inside?" I had to yell to be heard over the weather. The man glanced toward the edge of the building half-heartedly, as though he had forgotten about the original reason he had come up here.

It amazed me that talking about something as simple as his children and his former job had taken his focus away from ending his life. This guy was either ADD or I was really good at talking people down from roofs.

"Alright, fine." I said a prayer of thanks as these words graced my ears. I grabbed the stranger's hand, leading him away from the edge of the roof. We burst through the door to the stair well, soaking wet. Water dripped from the small fringe of hair that had come down above my eyes. I wiped it away, laughing with relief.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked, turning my head towards the man standing next to me. He grinned and offered me his hand.

"Rikki Shey."

"John Watson."

"Thanks for saving my life."

147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

After making our way downstairs and out the doors of the hospital, Rikki and I caught a cab back to his flat. He seemed to be fine the entire ride home. In fact, he seemed regretful about the decision he would have made.

Although I was happy that Rikki had stepped off of the roof, I couldn't help but feel a little bit confused. One second the man was ready to jump of the building, the next minute he was laughing like it was no big deal. My doctor instincts led me to believe that it was due to either maniac depression or post-traumatic stress disorder. I was definitely going to set him up with my therapist.

When we arrived at his flat, Rikki prepared some tea, and we took a seat on his sofa. He told me a lot about his time in the service, and all about his family. I did my best to be an attentive listener, only stopping him once to make a call to Sarah and inform her that I was alright. He really seemed to enjoy having someone to vent to, and I was glad that I was the person who received the privilege to listen.

147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147 147

I stayed at Rikki's house for a few hours, and I only agreed to leave when he promised me that he would call me if he started to feel depressed. He was a great guy stuck in a hard time, and I had helped to pull him out. I didn't want to leave him, but I didn't want Sarah to worry.

Rikki thanked me the entire way to the door, a genuine smile stretched across his tan face. He gave me his number on a napkin, and I tucked it into my jacket as I stood on the sidewalk.

I was too tired to walk home, so I decided to get a cab. They weren't hard to find, even if it was after midnight. I managed to catch the attention of a cabbie only five minutes after I had left Rikki's residence.

My eyes began to droop close as I leaned my head on the window of the cab. I forced them open, eyeing the clock on the dashboard to see what time it was.

I laughed as I read the red neon block letters of the digital clock. It was 1:47.

_So I hope everybody enjoyed the first chapter:) It's awfully long (for my standards lol) and I hope it wasn't too boring. The beginning was probably slow, but I hope it sped up towards the end. I am an American, so I don't know a whole lot about London. Everything about the DUI came from prior knowledge, and that is why the jail seen was so vague! Truth be told, I don't even know if they have DUI's in London. I know, I know, naïve little American lol! I also apologize if I stumbled at all in the middle or the end. I woke up this morning with a REALLY BAD earache, and it turns out I have swimmers ear. Yeah, yeah, I'm a sissy. But I had to get pain meds and antibiotics:( and I haven't been feeling the best. Anyway, thanks soooooo much for reading! Please REVIEW! I would really appreciate it! Next chapter will probably have less John/Sarah, but I wanted to build up their relationship and write as detailed and as realistic as I could with their relationship and home life and such! Oh and P.S. I just started watching Doctor Who….. AND I LOVE IT! PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks, -Shiloh_


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